


Golden Freckles (That Twinkle Like Stars)

by Live



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dubious Consent, Emotions, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, I'm Bad At Tagging, Or Well Attempt, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Time Skip, Rough Sex, Roughness, Sex, Sex Pollen, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Fisting, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:40:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24578434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Live/pseuds/Live
Summary: Poisons are a hobby of Claude's (a hobby that's very close to being a need), he probably should be a tad more careful with what he home grows though. Especially when the pollen of his latest poisonous plant makes him really want to fuck Byleth...
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 35
Kudos: 226





	1. The Beginning

“Um, Professor?” Hilda says, a faux coyness to her tone that’s meant to appease the participants of the conversation she’s interrupting. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important?”

“Ah, no,” Marianne is quick to assure. “I was just, um, asking the Professor a question. It can wait until later.”

“Great,” Hilda smiles, her every action carefully designed to appease her captivated crowds. “I’ll send the Professor back your way, as soon as I’m finished with her. I have a little emergency that needs the Professor’s expertise.”

The way she pinches her fingers together at the ‘little’ truly doesn’t encapsulate the problem Byleth’s about to be brought into, but that’s probably why Hilda does it. Reassuring everyone that there’s nothing worrying going on, even when there truly is.

“Ok,” Marianne smiles, “it’s really nothing pressing, so don’t worry if it takes too long.”

The second Marianne’s out of earshot Hilda looks panicked. She keeps the facade of coolness rather well, but her eyes are wide and she looks like she’s a second away from grabbing Byleth’s hand and pulling her away. Towards the... training grounds? Was someone injured?

“What’s wrong?” Byleth asks, an anchor of calmness Hilda happily latches on to.

“Claude’s been poisoned, or at least that’s what we think,” Hilda explains, trying to keep her voice quiet. “Lorenz is staying with him and making sure no one enters the greenhouse, but he wasn’t responding to anything. We think he might have-”

“Been playing around with poisons as he is wont to do?” Byleth sighs and starts walking towards the greenhouse. Hilda follows.

“Yes,” Hilda agrees, Byleth’s calmness making Hilda slow down. Breathe. “It was kind of weird now that I think about it Professor. He was just kneeling on the ground staring blankly forward. Is there a poison that can do that?”

“Not that I know of,” she knows no poison that can do that, but she knows of one thing that can. Something arguably worse. She picks up the pace; not enough to alarm, but enough that others know she’s in the middle of something. That she shouldn’t be interrupted. Hilda keeps pace.

“Should I get someone else to help?” She asks, true fear in her countenance. She hides it well.

“Wait until we get there,” it’s not usually the best advice. The quicker you get help the better. But, if it is what she thinks it is, it wouldn’t be smart to rush everyone into the greenhouse. If it is something dangerous she can reverse time and tell Hilda to run for help instead of being cautious.

“Ok, Professor,” Hilda says, sounding a little contrite. Like she was planning to run as fast as she could and was feeling bad about it. That won’t do.

“Usually you’d want to get as much help as soon as possible, but first we need to make sure the situation is optimal for multiple people. Some... poisons are airborne,” or she should say the pollen is the problem and if it’s in the air. Problems galore are ahead.

“I- will I be ok?” Hilda asks. “I was with Claude when he was checking on his plant- and what about Lorenz? He stayed behind with Claude when he saw what was going on!”

“Calm down,” Byleth says, trying to project calmness onto her. “If you’re fine now, you’re probably ok. Do you have a handkerchief?”

“I- yes?” Hilda questions, more than answers. But, that’s good enough.

“Keep it over your mouth,” Byleth says, demonstrating with the long sleeve of her coat. “It’ll limit the amount of nefarious things that can reach you.”

“Ok,” Hilda nods, pulling out a pink handkerchief with embroidery along the edges. “Anything else to take note of?”

Byleth ponders a second, not slowing her pace for a second. “You were there when it happened? Was there anything strange you noted?”

“No? We were on our way to sort some provisions out. Claude said he wanted to quickly check on some plants he was growing and then- nothing. He just froze where he was. He is going to be alright, right Professor?”

“I won’t let anything bad happen,” Byleth says as they finally walk down the steps to the greenhouse. She shoots Hilda one last smile. “I promise.”

“As always I have no basis to believe you, yet...” She hears Hilda grumble behind her. Quiet enough that she probably shouldn’t be overhearing. “I do. Always so reassuring, Professor.”

Byleth doesn’t bother answering, instead her eyes focus on Lorenz. He’s standing guard of the greenhouse, not even letting the greenhouse attendant in. She’s pretty sure they’re arguing.

“I’ve told you, it’s for the betterment of everyone if you don’t enter,” Lorenz is saying. He sounds haggard. “I swear on my nobility that-”

Byleth brings a hand to the greenhouse attendant’s shoulder. Directing her towards the dining hall.

“Sorry. I asked him to guard the doors, hopefully everything will be sorted out soon. Maybe get something to eat while you wait?” Byleth smiles.

“I- well if it’s you Professor, ok,” she says and strolls off. She doesn’t look like she’s been arguing for however long she must have.

“Thank you, Pro-”

“What was that Professor?” Hilda cuts off Lorenz so finely, he doesn’t have a chance to look disgruntled. “The lie said so perfectly, she had to believe it. A smile so sweet, it would fool anyone. Using your position without even mentioning it. You’re not usually one for such tactics,” Hilda stares and she really must be panicked over everything today; she’s usually better at prioritising.

“I hang around you and Claude too much,” she simply states, before turning back to Lorenz. “Do you have a handkerchief?”

“Of course,” Lorenz pulls it out, offering it to her like the gentleman he aims to be. She hadn’t meant to take one, but... it might be useful.

“Do you have a second one?” She asks. Lorenz looks confused, but does procure a second one. “Good. Use one to cover your mouth.”

She takes the spare one and after covering her mouth with her sleeve barges into the greenhouse. Little care given. She just needs to make sure Claude’s ok. She’s kind of hoping he has poisoned himself, the other option. It’s not what she’d wish on her worst enemy.

Claude’s kneeling exactly as Hilda had said. His knees firmly on the ground, his body raised slightly above his feet as though he wanted to get up. To push himself off the ground, but was unable. His head is transfixed on the greenery around them and not even the sound of the doors opening make him react. His gaze staring blankly ahead. His hands dangle useless down his sides, limp.

Byleth walks forward. The clack, clack, clack of her heels against concrete echoes around them. Claude’s finger twitches.

“Is it wise to go in if you think it’s airborne, Professor?” Lorenz asks. Byleth keeps her focus on Claude, takes note on the way his hand twitches at the word ‘Professor’.

“Be careful and we’ll be fine,” she says and Claude’s hand completely clenches into a fist. His shoulders shaking. “What plant was it, did you see Hilda?”

“That small plant in front of Claude,” Hilda explains. “It kind of looks like a stick with purple and pink buds on them.”

Byleth can see it. She sighs. Approaching Claude slowly. Every clack of her heels makes Claude’s fist tighten. She’s pretty sure he’s drawing blood.

“Claude,” she says softly and Claude whimpers. “I need you to look at me, can you do that?”

“C-can’t,” the words are said around a thick tongue. His voice sounds swollen.

“Oh Goddess! He’s alive,” she hears Hilda say behind her and she truly sounds relieved, but there are worse things than death. Much worse.

Byleth ignores the audience behind them and grabs Claude’s chin between a finger and thumb. Claude, honest to Goddess purrs at the contact. It’s a little unfair exposing Claude’s vulnerable expression to... well anyone, but she must. It’s for his safety. His health. (She still feels guilty; Claude values his privacy above all else).

Carefully. Slowly. She directs his face towards her. His mouth falls open, a breathless sigh passing parted lips. His eyes, already dilated so only a slither of green is noticeable, become completely black; absorbed by the pupil. She keeps hold of his chin. He eagerly waits in her grasp.

“Teach,” he murmurs. A dreamy quality to his voice. “Stay with me?”

Byleth sighs, shaking her head in exasperation. It’s exactly as she feared, he’s-

He whines, his hands reaching towards her. It’s slow, unresponsive, all he manages is to latch onto her tights. The grip is surprisingly strong for someone in his situation, but it is also uncoordinated, pinching at her flesh. She ignores it for now.

“Um, Professor is he ok?” Hilda asks at the same time Lorenz exclaims scandalised at Claude’s actions.

“Not really,” Byleth says, keeping his chin firmly in her grip. Observing his eyes. Waiting. “The plant he’s breathed in the pollen of is a strong aphrodisiac.”

“An... aphrodisiac?” Lorenz questions, sounding aghast. “Why would there be-“ he groans, in the noblest way, “don’t tell me. You just have to look at the sorry state of our ‘leader’ to know why.”

Claude truly is in a sorry state. A second away from stripping every protective layer of clothing off for the chance of relief. A second away from trying his luck at getting closer to her and grinding against her leg. A second away from begging for any relief. She keeps his chin steady. Waiting.

“There’s an aphrodisiac that works like this?” Hilda asks, Claude’s gaze is wholly focused on Byleth. “I thought they were used more to help someone along?”

“Hilda,” Lorenz practically screeches. “You can’t go saying stuff like that!”

“Why not! It’s true,” Hilda huffs. “Knowledge is power, Lorenz.”

“While I cannot argue with-”

“Aphrodisiacs don’t usually work like this, but there are some that can be pretty deadly and/or dangerous,” Byleth cuts in, not taking her eyes off of Claude. She hasn’t blinked since entering. Neither has he. “This one is the worst. We’ll have to quarantine the area. Hilda go explain the situation to Manuela and Hanneman. Lorenz go clear the area to Claude’s dorm room. We can’t treat him here.”

“Right,” Hilda agrees

“I will endeavour to do my best,” Lorenz agrees.

The doors to the greenhouse shut with a resounding thud.

Byleth sighs.

“How aware are you Claude?” She asks.

“I’m aware,” it doesn’t ring as a lie, but it’s definitely not the truth. Claude never answers bluntly.

Byleth shakes her head and feels Claude’s fists tighten of her tights. She hears the unmistakable sound of fabric ripping; sees Claude’s Adam’s apple move as he swallows.

“What’s your name?” She asks.

“Claude,” again it’s true (kind of), but there’s a distinct lack of his surname.

“What’s the year?” She asks.

“1185,” his answer is more of a whine. “Six years since we met. You’ve kept me waiting Byleth.”

“What’s your dream?” She asks.

“You,” he admits; tongue darting out. Trying to swipe along her skin. Trying to draw her thumb into his mouth. She keeps her hold firm, avoids being slathered by the greedy wet appendix. He whines. “Byleth. It’s you. You’re my dream. I spend nights awake aching for you. My every thought is consumed by you. You’re-”

“Shush,” she says it gently. Coaxing him into silence. Really this aphrodisiac was completely unfair. It was unfair that careful Claude, Claude who kept his persona immaculately in place, was forced to spout nonsense he didn’t mean. Nonsense that could be misconstrued as a weakness to expose.

“No,” Claude tries shaking his head, her grip remains firm; aborting the motion. Still he continues trying to move his head side to side. His eyes fall shut. “No. Byleth. Please you have to understand. I only want you. Please let me-”

“Professor!” Ignatz slams his way into the room. “I heard Claude was hurt, is everything ok?”

It’s a stupid decision made from both her instincts to protect her students and underestimating Claude in this state. When the resounding bang of the door opens, before Ignatz’s voice registers, she turns to the door to defend herself and Claude. Her hands, neither really free what with one keeping Claude in place and the other protecting her face from pollen, loosen ever so slightly. Enough so she can punch someone if need be. Claude takes advantage of the one second it takes for her to briefly take her focus off of him and turn towards Ignatz. Claude takes advantage of the one moment she thinks he’s docile; his eyes closed, body lax beneath her grip and begrudgingly obeying her. Claude takes advantage like a predator after stalking its prey.

She lands on her back with a sharp thud. She groans as she mostly lands on her shoulders, her pauldrons rattling against her bones. Her head, tucked in, avoids smacking against the floor for a second, but then Claude’s face is there. Pushing against hers, pushing her head into the concrete. The only thing stopping Claude from shoving his tongue down her throat: her hand. Precariously clutched between their mouths; mouths dangerously in line without her hand between them.

Claude runs his tongue along the palm of her hand, the path tracing her lips beneath her barrier.

“Delicious,” Claude hums, smiling wide. Happily partaking in a ‘delicious’ meal. “If only I was allowed to delve in deeper. I wouldn’t finish until I’ve tasted every single bite.”

Each word is spoken firmly against her hand. She’s sure he says the words slowly on purpose, making every curve of his lips an intimate gesture. Each a seduction. A temptation.

She shakes her head ‘no’ once again. He pushes his hips forward. An example of how this isn’t done yet. How Claude’s not finished. How, maybe unknowingly on Claude’s behalf, he won’t be finished for hours. He wants more. He needs more.

“I- um- Professor are you ok? Do you need help-” Byleth watches Claude’s eyes narrow. Plotting.

“Just keep guard at the door Ignatz,” her words are spoken into the back of her hand. Claude’s eyes shoot down to the sound, trying to trace every movement; unable with the barrier between. “We don’t need anyone else like this.”

“Why not Teach?” Claude let’s out a breathless laugh against her hand. “It feels pretty great having you under me,” another thrust of his hips against her, “not that I’d want you under anyone but me.”

“You don’t get an opinion,” Byleth informs him, her words against her hand once more. It’s really not something she should be focusing on (Claude’s pressing completely against her), but there’s something so intimate with their mouths being separated by a thin layer that only she has control of. She can’t stop hyper-focusing. “You’re not in the right state of mind.”

“I’m not?” Claude hums and he really does sound fine. Sounds completely like himself, but that’s how it tricks you. How it lures people into relations they were never interested in. “Then I guess I’m never in the right state of mind. When we’re in our meetings, all I can think about is what it would be like to be kneeling at your feet; subject to your will. When we’re on the battlefield all I long for is to slam you against the nearest surface and take you while you’re still covered in our enemies’ blood. While you’re-”

“I’m leaving!” Ignatz squeaks, his face completely red as he rushes out the room. Byleth can’t blame him. Her face feels flushed hearing Claude’s words, feeling his heat and weight bearing down on her. She can’t stay like this.

She takes a deep calming breath (the breath sweltering against her flesh).

Claude laughs.

“Feeling hot and bothered, Teach?” He asks, his voice sounding contrite while his eyes burn. Not the least bit sorry.

“Bothered; yes,” she agrees, while taking stock of the situation.

She’s under someone heavier and larger than her, but not necessarily stronger... Claude has strength; has to with the way he nocks and fires arrows daily, but Byleth has confidence she can at least match his strength if not surpass it. It’s just positioning wise... One of his legs falls between hers, pressing as close to her clitoris as their clothing will allow; the other leg presses completely down on her right leg, making it immovable. Her left leg has one of Claude’s hands clawing at it; she thinks he’s forgotten it’s even there, half tangled in her tights and leaving a bloody trail on her pale legs (she’s unsure if it’s hers or his blood). His other hand rests beside her face steadying himself. Allowing him the movement to push his face against hers, allowing his chest to press completely against hers. The way her breasts are squished makes her feel breathless, like he’s constricting her lungs. She’s at a disadvantage, but so is Claude. One side is open, she has one free hand and leg and he’s precariously balanced. She just needs an angle and-

Claude moves his face, his lips trailing the palm of her hand until he can reach the small unprotected flesh between her open palm and her eye. She dares not move the hand from her mouth; it would be beyond dangerous if she breathed in any of the pollen and she can see it on Claude’s face. A light dusting of yellow pollen against his cheeks. They look like golden freckles in the light of the greenhouse, mocking her with how right they look on Claude’s face even while she knows they shouldn’t be there. How dangerous they were there.

“You can’t lie to me Teach,” Claude says, his voice persuasive. His voice always takes this tone when he’s after something. “I know how to read you, and this,” he presses his lips slowly against the small outcropping of cheek, “is flushed. Bothered and flustered. You’re as hot and bothered for me, as I am for you.”

There’s a desperation to him now. The way his eyes dart back and forth, searching for any kind of weakness to exploit. The way his voice speeds up, racing to a conclusion he thinks he can talk his way to. The way his nails grate against her leg, trying to gain some of his sanity back. This is the aphrodisiac at work. It freezes the body until the victim can do nothing but act. Then they react and react and react, each action more frantic than the last, until there’s nothing but a burning ache they need to release. When it reaches that inferno there’s nothing they can do but rut and groan; rubbing against a cactus is better than nothing.

She slides her free leg to the side. Tries to make it look natural, like she’s adjusting herself, after all there’s no way she can do it undetected. Her body so close to his he can only moan at even that small movement.

“Please,” he begs and he looks like he wants to toss his head to the sky in prayer, but can’t bear to take his eyes off of her. “Please. Please, if you’re going to squirm let me-”

His mouth falls open, running along her hand again. Down each groove of her fingers. Down the curve of her chin. Down her neck. Stopping at her neckline and whining.

“Let me indulge,” her free hand shoots up, covering his mouth just in time to stop his teeth from sinking into the flesh of her neck. He bites her hand.

Usually, or at least she assumes usually, this would stop him. Surely he’d have noticed he missed his target and at the very least adjusted, but alas whatever is ‘usual’ doesn’t explain whatever’s happening right now. He just closes his eyes and ‘indulges’.

The teeth against her flesh send a jolt up her arm. Pain, as he sinks his teeth in with strength behind it. He takes a bite as though he was eating an apple, continuing to dig in as though he expects to hear the tell-tale sound of a crunch as he finally pierces flesh. He does pierce flesh, blood rushing to meet his canines and she twitches. Her whole arm jolting at the feeling. Her nails reflexively dig into his cheek. He moans; pushing closer to her. His head cushioned in the shadows of her neck. All she can see is his hair. All she can do is keep her hand securely against his mouth.

His tongue slides out, lathering her hand with his endless assault. Her hand flexes, but she manages to stop herself from clawing him. He wasn’t in control right now. He wasn’t. His teeth retract and she prepares herself for her next defence, but-

He dives right back in. Lips covering the palm of her hand and sucking. It’s a strange sensation on her hand and she winces. It feels like he wants to suck everything that makes her, her up. As though he wants to drink her very life force and he won’t let go.

He sucks and he sucks and he sucks. She forgets time as she focuses on the one point. Her palm on fire.

He pulls back. Her hand follows; refusing another assault. He grumbles, trying to dislodge her hand with head movement alone. She doesn’t let go. As though that would be enough to dislodge her.

He stares down at her. His eyes darting between her neck, her eyes, her breasts; her eyes. He seems to be coming to some conclusion, quicker than Byleth is. She needs to-

The hand from her leg flies up, leaving one last stinging rake of his nails, as it pries her hand off his face and pushes the hand down to her neck. He pins the hand there, palm up, exactly where he had been biting. His eyes looked awed. Amazed.

“Beautiful,” he mutters, and it’s like he had left the mark exactly where he meant to. Byleth flushes, almost overwhelmed with the attention, but she doesn’t let it consume her. This is important, she already knows where his next aim is. She won’t let him-

He moves down to the small opening in her clothes just above her breasts. She’s had large breasts from a pretty young age and grew to enjoy the idea of teasing exactly what she has (after she got over how heavy they were and how gross some people can be about them). But, she’s never had someone actually try and touch the flesh there. She’s never allowed them.

She tries to move the hand against her neck to intercept, but his hand just tightens on her wrist. Keeping it there. She has one hand... kind of free. It would be a bad idea to move it, if she breathes in the pollen...

She feels a lock of his hair brush against the top of her breast and reacts. The hand covering her mouth rushing down. Stopping Claude from mauling the flesh at her breasts.

Once again he doesn’t react like he’s missed. Biting. Sucking. Licking. Claiming the area as his own.

Byleth can hear her haggard breathes now. They echo through her, deep and heavy. Make her chest rise and fall, right into Claude’s face that is right there. It's embarrassing. The sound. The sight. She’s reacting to this and she shouldn’t be. She can’t take her eyes off of Claude though.

She knows, logically, that her hand is between Claude and her breasts. She can feel the insistence of his lips. The brush of teeth. But, that doesn’t change the sight. Claude’s face dipped between the ridges of her breasts. It’s a sight that makes her legs rub together, or try to rub together (Claude’s leg between and on them), trying to find some relief for the sudden heat that’s overtaken her. She’s wet. She can feel it dripping into her pants and that’s just dirty. She feels dirty. She shouldn’t be doing this, getting turned on while Claude’s under the influence of-

Claude changes the angle of his face, looking up at her (locking eyes) as he swipes his tongue suggestively along her middle finger. He circles his tongue there a second, at the tip of her finger; right where her left nipple would be if she wasn’t putting up this feeble defence. He stares, eyes smouldering. Eyes promising more. Her thighs try pushing together; push only harder against his immovable leg. He can probably feel how wet she is. He probably knows how much she wants this. How she-

She gasps and he focuses on her lips. He moves towards her face as though he’s in a trance. Desperate for a taste from her lips. She focuses on those golden freckles that feel like they should belong, but don’t and-

Brings her knee harshly to his side. He wheezes and grabs his side. Before he collapses on her, she moves to the side; avoiding being stuck under him. She sits not too far from him, trying to catch her breath. 

Wiping her hand of any potential pollen she brings it back to her mouth, palm to her mouth. She can’t help but think of his mouth against that palm. Can’t help but think of how he wanted to kiss her; how she wanted him to kiss her. This is the closest they’ll get. The love bite he left her pressing against her lips.

“I knew you’d leave me breathless,” Claude groans. “Didn’t think you’d do it so violently.”

“Sorry,” she says, because she is. But not sorry enough to take advantage of Claude’s fallen form.

A quick burst of strength and she has Claude face first on the ground. One arm she physically pins with her free hand, the other she crushes into his side with her legs. She sits on his back, pressing all her weight on him. Claude groans; he did always complain about how heavy she was.

“Byleth,” he groans, tilting his head to the side so he can lock eyes. He pants, small shallow breaths. This is not a good angle for breathing but she can’t do anything about that. If she lets up... well the way his eyes burn with a never ending fire as he watches her explains what would happen.

He wouldn’t let her go.

She feels wetness slip from her pussy and pool in her panties. She shouldn’t want this.

“Byleth,” he moans, trying to keep his eyes locked on her, but the angle isn’t great and his neck-

His head falls forward. Colliding hard with the ground.

She keeps steady, not daring to ease the ache of her legs or core. She keeps him secure in her grip. Lorenz would be here soon and they can actually help him out of the greenhouse.

The heat in the room is unbearable. She knows the greenhouse needs to be kept hot all year, but when you have someone with such pretty smouldering eyes staring at you and you alone... it becomes a nuisance.

“Byleth, please do something,” Claude begs. “Anything. Use my body until you’re satisfied. You don’t even have to change position. Feeling your hips grinding into my back; your legs straining against my sides: there’d be no sweeter feeling.”

Unbearable. The heat was unbearable.

“You were flustered earlier when you were under me, I’d do anything for you,” he continues, she feels the muscles in the arm pinned to his side flex. Trying to break free. She holds fast. “I’ll tie you down if that’s what you want. Eat you out until you can’t think of anything at all. Until the only word passing those delightful lips is my name alone.”

He bucks, trying to dislodge her; looking for relief. She grinds down, keeping him in place. He moans.

“Like that! Just like that Byleth, more. Please,” she blushes, she never really stopped (the heat unbearable), but she blushes nonetheless. She needs water... Claude needs water. As soon as she’s able she’ll- “Byleth! Just a little more! Please! I’ll do-”

“Professor, I heard Claude attacked, are you ok?” Lorenz bursts in.

“-anything to keep you by my side,” Claude’s cries are pitiful and she hates that he’s announcing it for everyone to hear, but she can’t change that.

She uncovers her mouth, dangerous she knows, and gently strokes his hair. Claude freezes under her touch, letting her do as she wishes.

“Shh now Claude,” he whimpers, but obeys. She keeps her hand in his hair. A small comfort she can provide (she ignores the slick dripping out of her, promising a more permanent comfort). She turns to Lorenz.

The purple haired man stood with his mouth agape. Staring at the precarious scenario he’s walked in on. He’s aghast.

“Are you ok, Professor?” His voice squeaks high, this is clearly beyond his comprehension. “You look like you’ve been mauled by a bear.”

“An adept description,” Byleth agrees. “Is the way to his room clear?”

“I... yes,” Lorenz gulps. “I warned others to either stay in their rooms or not leave the dorms until its safe.”

“Good,” Byleth nods, before looking back down at Claude. His muscles are straining, his lip is bleeding from biting it; he’s barely able to obey her. His every molecule singing out to her. “Help me get Claude out of here. Forewarning he might be touchy-feely.”

“Only for you Byleth,” Claude’s willpower leaves him. His hips grinding into the ground with a groan. “Only... you...”

“By the Goddess,” Lorenz squawks, speeding over to the both of them. “You are a mess Claude!”

It takes a little manoeuvring to get Claude up straight. First there’s the fact if Byleth releases her hold all at once she’ll probably find herself flat on her back under Claude again. There’s the fact that Claude is actually stronger than Lorenz, only by a bit but it’s enough that when Claude squirms out of his grip he manages it.

“Do you enjoy rolling around the floor like an animal?” Lorenz bemoans once the hand he’s trying to hold firm to, escapes his grip again.

“Depends,” Claude grins, it’s as charming as always- an edge to it that makes Byleth’s mouth as dry as a desert- “if you mean do I enjoy rolling on the ground with Byleth like an animal? Then you better believe I do.”

Claude’s hand that keeps breaking free keeps finding its way to Byleth’s leg. Stroking the skin there. Ripping her tights further. Trying to pull her leg so she loses balance.

Every time Lorenz has to retrieve Claude’s hand he apologises endlessly for having to touch Byleth. It’s becoming a little ridiculous. Like Claude’s playing a game of cat and mouse with Lorenz and Byleth is the unfortunate terrain they have to scale. She grips Claude’s wrist firmly.

“Keep a firm grip here Lorenz,” she directs, allowing the Gloucester heir to hold firm where Claude can’t twist his way out of.

Claude whines, trying to overpower Lorenz with feeble tugs. “Unfair Byleth. You know how to restrain me.”

“Anyone could do that,” Byleth informs and working with Lorenz brings Claude to his feet. One arm wrapped over Lorenz’s shoulder, the other over Byleth’s. Claude almost falls to his knees; the reason obvious. The front of his trousers, loose as they are, are tented. An obvious sign of arousal. He tries to tug away from Lorenz, but only manages to lean further into Byleth. A happy accident on Claude’s part.

He nuzzles into her hair and she side eyes him. Worried over the pollen he’s smearing into her hair.

“You really have been rolling on the ground,” Lorenz tuts. “You’re filthy Claude. Dirt, leaves and are those flowers? You didn’t destroy the flowerbeds did you?”

Claude just continues to nuzzle her hair, uncaring of the Gloucester heir holding him up and helping him walk forward.

“We’ll have to clean you up,” Lorenz chides. “It’s most unbecoming of the Alliance’s leader to look like this.”

She watches as Lorenz reaches forward, his fingers a second away from touching the pollen.

“Lorenz!” His hand stops. “That’s the pollen that’s made him like this. Don’t touch it.”

He obeys and they silently move Claude out of the greenhouse. The only sounds are Claude’s hums and moans, followed by a whine as the cool air outside hits them.

Byleth sighs. Her flushed flesh finding reprieve.

Relief. For a moment. The wind is light and cool around them, gently brushing her hair from her face. A welcome chill. A burning heat. Claude beside her, leaning as much weight as possible on her is burning. She feels it completely up one side. The heat runs along her shoulders. A juxtaposition that makes her want to shiver.

Claude does shiver.

“Professor are you okay?” Ignatz stands at the entrance, guarding as she commanded.

“Fine,” she nods, ignoring Claude pushing further into her hair. His mouth moves aimlessly. “Don’t let anyone in until Hilda, Hanneman and Manuela get here. Help them out when they do get here and let them know where we’ve gone.”

“Where’s that?” Ignatz asks as the two struggle with Claude. It wouldn’t surprise Byleth if he’s purposely being difficult.

“Claude’s room,” Lorenz huffs, already done having to help carry their moron of a leader through the dorms.

Claude hums and Byleth realises he’s getting increasingly and increasingly closer to her ear. The sound of his hum vibrates through it, filling her ear like liquid honey. Seeping deep into her. It stays long after he stops humming.

She ignores it. His heat against her, his voice trapped in her head; her insistent attraction. She really shouldn’t be attracted to this at all. Sure, Claude was an attractive man. Sure, Claude was one of the few people she could completely trust and call a close friend. Sure, this is Claude and she could never fault Claude of anything. But, in this situation he’s forced to act like this; he’s essentially been drugged and there’s nothing attractive about that. In this situation he’s being forced to act against his will and that means Byleth’s not what he wants on a usual day. His ‘Teach’ just chose the wrong time to turn up...

This situation shouldn’t tear her apart so much. Shouldn’t have her heart aching. There’s only one reaction she should have in this situation and it is obvious. Claude is suffering, Claude is in pain. She will get him somewhere safe where a healer can save him. The only emotion she should be feeling or displaying is her concern over Claude, not... whatever her heart was trying to embrace.

Travelling the stairs is difficult. Claude’s feet being unresponsive and only knocking into the next step without rising above it. He only responds to Byleth prompting him. Some part of his mind always wired to obey her. It leaves her flushed though, because Claude won’t stop whispering in her ear as he does.

“You’re not going to praise me? Even though I’m being such a good boy for you?”

“I could be even better for you? Could fulfil your every desire.”

“I live for your praise Byleth, every word a sweet serenade. Sing for me.”

The brief coolness of outside has long since left her. Heat sizzling her everywhere. The stairs are narrow. The corridor more so.

Claude uses this to his advantage. The second her foot is off the ground. The second she has one foot, the one closest to him, as her only supply of support he pushes more weight on her. Trying to tumble the two of them into the wall. She holds fast, predicting it. Lorenz doesn’t.

The added weight. Two full grown men. Pushing against her while she’s barely keeping herself upright is... well it’s a little more than she was prepared for. She falls into the wall. Her shoulder slamming into it. Her wrist slamming into it; trying to protect Claude’s. His weight falls on top of her, pushing her face first into the wall. She can’t see Lorenz from this angle, but she feels an uncomfortable weight behind her and one too many limbs. Lorenz is definitely there.

More pressingly Claude’s mouth is at her ear. Humming that drizzled honey hum. Surprisingly soft lips move against her ear and then- sharp teeth pierce flesh.

She hisses. Wincing into the wall. The angle is uncomfortable. She has no control. Still she tries pushing at the wall for some kind of leverage. She pushes into his groin and her ear is treated with a keening whine. His hip stutters forward, begging for more.

“Claude!” Lorenz’s voice is shrill. Understandably so. “Let the Professor go!”

She’s pretty sure Lorenz tries pulling him away from her because Claude’s teeth are suddenly vicious. Digging deeper than before and tugging her ear away from her. She hisses loudly; her discomfort out loud for everyone to hear. The tugging stops. The teeth don’t.

“I am sorry Professor! I didn’t mean-”

“Its fine Lorenz,” she hisses and brings one hand, not the one that slammed into the wall and is still clinging to Claude’s wrist, up. She places it under Claude’s chin. “Off Claude.”

“Make me,” he goads, his tongue gliding along the shell of her ear.

She makes him. Pushing his head suddenly up. She hears a groan of pain. He probably bit his own tongue with how he refused to keep it to himself. She shoves and with a little help they’re back onto the path to Claude’s room.

She wants to curse about how far away his room is, but they make it with minimal damages... someone was going to have to fix a vase though. And Byleth was definitely bleeding. But, they get there. And when they do they...

Stand around. There’s not really a safe place to put Claude. His floor is covered in books and all kinds of tools. His bed is similarly decorated. It’s a mess, a dangerous mess if he tries pushing people under him again. Also dangerous in the fact that there’s nowhere to keep him pinned down on. Maybe the chair... if there’s anything to tie him down with...

Knowing Claude there’s bound to be something to tie someone down with.

She sighs. “Lorenz do you think you can subdue Claude for a minute or two?”

“Of course I can Professor,” Lorenz is a little too gleeful. She sends him a look; a disappointed look. “I am serious! It’s not gloating over the differences in our families. I am fully capable of keeping him down.”

Claude snorts, an involuntary sound that lets everyone know what he thinks about that. Byleth can’t... say Claude’s wrong. They’re both strong just in different ways... She’ll trust Lorenz.

They decide to tie Claude to the chair, so Lorenz keeps him there and Claude... obediently stays? It sets alarms off in Byleth’s mind, but she can’t waste a second. She rummages through his things, searching for rope or maybe even one of his spare capes... He had spare capes right?

“Second drawer on the left,” Claude says casually, flicking his legs in front of him. One leg landing heavily over the other. He looks the picture of relaxation, even if he clearly doesn’t enjoy Lorenz’s hands anywhere on his body. Staying as far away from them as he can. Lorenz doesn’t let up.

She tries the second drawer and... rope. A lot of rope. She looks back at him and he smirks. Pleased with himself. Either... the rope is tampered with or its fine and he’s trying to mess with her... She... can’t risk it.

Standing up straight, she brings her hands to her hips. Amused eyes, become liquid fire once again. Gleaming with fire. Hyper focusing on her hands. With a few flicks of her wrist she undoes one of her belts and slides her dagger onto his desk. Claude gulps. Lorenz politely looks away.

She moves forward, wrapping her belt tightly around Claude’s wrist. Confining one hand to the chair. One more to go.

She steps back. With a few more flicks of her wrist and her second belt is undone. This one makes her half skirt fall to the floor with a loud thud. She ignores it for now. Stepping forward; it’s strange without the half skirt hiding the back of her legs and ass. Her coat still manages to cover a fair bit, but not enough. She feels naked in a way, and it feels odd having her clothes on the floor of Claude’s room. Like she’s staking a corner of his room for herself, like she’s stripping just for him, like she’s-

She’s getting a belt that can confine Claude so he’s not a danger to himself of anyone else. This isn’t the time for morbid fantasies. She can... feel guilty about them later. When she’s alone. Far away from the vulnerable Claude.

She ties his other wrist to the chair and Claude licks his lips obnoxiously. Making a scene of the way his eyes roam her body.

He whistles, a high voice she imagines only dogs can hear. “Do I get any more of a show, Teach?”

The way he says ‘Teach’ is purposefully obscene. Said in a way dripping with want. He hasn’t called her ‘Teach’ since this started and... now that he’s saying it and saying it like that. She almost wonders if maybe he has been dreaming of her for years. Maybe he has been wanting to fuck her and do whatever he can with her. Maybe it’s just a sexual fantasy, she heard Mercenaries claiming the ‘teacher’ fantasy is a popular one, but maybe it’s more. Outsiders together. She wishes that-

She turns from him. Moves to retrieve her half skirt from the floor. Calm down Byleth. She’s just horny and if Sothis was here-

Well, that’s a bucket of cold water dripping down her spine. No matter how old Sothis actually is, or the fact that she’s the Goddess; having someone who looks like a 12 year old having the potential to see anything sexual? Yeah, that’s a big no from her.

She retrieves her half skirt, ignores the way Claude’s head tilts to the side clearly enjoying the view of her ass and walks back over to him. She takes out the handkerchief she borrowed from Lorenz.

“You’re good to let go for now Lorenz,” she informs. He eagerly backs away, but sticks nearby. Willing to help if Claude does something stupid.

(He’s going to do something stupid).

“What’s that for Teach?” He asks. “Don’t tell me its chloroform? That can’t mix well with whatever, this, is.”

He emphasises the ‘this’ with a thrust of his hips. He can reach pretty high with his hands bound, but then they haven’t bound his legs yet... she doesn’t doubt he’d still manage to thrust with bound legs.

“It’s a handkerchief,” she informs him before grabbing hold of his chin and keeping him still. She carefully dabs at his cheeks. Slowly, but carefully removing the golden freckles from his cheeks.

His eyes fall shut, humming in contentment. He’s like a cat, pliant and happy to finally be given the affection he demands. Of course one only had to look down at his lap to realise he wants more and this wasn’t ever going to be enough. She’s not here to bring him that kind of relief though. She’s here to help and the pollen was a hindrance.

She focuses on nothing, but her work. Claude’s skin is smooth beneath her hand. His jaw sharp as though it could cut rocks. His cheeks dimpled from all the smiles he threw out. And she cleans it all. Removing the root cause of their problem.

Claude’s eyes open. Half open, hooded, struggling to stay open. He stares at Byleth with this husky look.

“Does caring for your student turn you on?” He asks, completely indecent. Completely uncaring. “If so this student is completely compliant to your care. You can clean me up after I make a mess,” the way his hips move ensures exactly what kind of mess he was referring to, “teach me all you know on the subject,” he tries to suck at her hand as she briefly dusts at his chin, “teach me.”

“I’m concerned for my friend,” she says and she looks earnestly into his eyes. She tries projecting every emotion she feels for him. “And I’ll do anything to help him.”

“Byleth,” the way he says her name, like a prayer. Blasphemous. Contradicts exactly what his legs do.

In a second he kicks her legs out from under her. She falls forward, saves herself by grabbing at the chair (at his arms, the muscles of his forearms are large. Years of bow practice at work), but then their faces are less than an inch apart. Claude finally indulges.

There’s a second of coherent thought. A second where she can’t help but notice how soft Claude’s lips are against hers. A second where she’s compliant and accepting of this development. A second where she realises she shouldn’t be. She’d be taking advantage of Claude otherwise and then-

Nothing.

Her mind clears. Thoughts fall somewhere behind a fog. She feels like there should be panic. She feels there should be shame. She feels she let someone she cares for down. But, there’s only nothingness. Her mind blank. Her surroundings white.

If she had a heartbeat, then that would be all she felt. She’d be forced to focus on the steady beat as it slowly picked up pace and picked up pace and then all her ears would be filled with was. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom Boom Boom. BoomBoomBoomBoomBoomBoomBoomBoom.

As it is she doesn’t have a heartbeat. Her pulse races without a sound. Her breathing is laboured though she can’t hear it. Her mouth is pliant to another’s. To someone she can’t see. But, she doesn’t feel that yet. All she can feel is the ache between her legs. The building pressure she had refused to acknowledge (why had she refused? There was no reason to refuse). She feels the heat swirl and build up, demanding her attention and she focuses. Focuses on the Drip. Drip. Drip.

The monastery best pray it doesn’t rush to the point of DripDripDripDripDripDripDripDripDrip. For then nothing would keep Claude and Byleth from each other. Two frightening storms begging to collide. And they would, the question was... would everyone else still be standing?


	2. The Middle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude and Byleth get down and dirty in the Goddess Tower!

Her lips are pliant under his.

There was a second of surprise where she responded, a wonderful moment where all he could hear was his blood rushing through his ears and all he could feel was her before him. In that second the leather belts around his wrists didn’t exist, the stiff wooden chair at his back didn’t exist; the ground beneath them didn’t (not that he currently would have felt the ground, being held up by both the chair and Byleth). The only thing that existed was Claude and Byleth.

He opens his mouth, his tongue diving forward. Eager to finally (finally) get a taste. Her mouth tastes of citrus and pine; a sharp taste that Claude longs for even as it’s all he can taste. His lips are insistent. There’s no other way they can be. Not now. Not with Byleth (amazing. sweet. strong. incongruous. trusted. Byleth.).

He moans, pushing for more. It’s only been eight seconds. Byleth freezes.

This is important. Some part of his mind, some part he can’t live without; some part he can’t part with, knows this. The sudden stillness is important. Vital. He just... can’t figure out why. His mind is drowning in Byleth. Her smell. Her sounds. Her taste. He wants more. Why won’t she touch him? He wants her to touch him. He wants her touch. Why won’t she touch him?

“Byleth,” he whines against her still lips.

It does nothing. She doesn’t react at all and... that’s not right. Even when denying them of what they both want; even when she struggles to express herself; even as her heart won’t beat: she’s never motionless. A still Byleth should be concerning. Byleth would only be still if she was dead; he’d never let Byleth die, but... he’s not concerned. Quite the contrary. A part of him is thrilled like he’s succeeded with a scheme.

A scheme...

His chair is suddenly upright. His feet knocking the ground awkwardly, but that’s not important. What’s important is Byleth and how he’s- she’s- not her- him.

“Byleth,” he moans, words temporarily leaving him. He wishes they hadn’t because he’d be cursing Lorenz; what right does he have to separate them? “Byleth!”

She stands in front of him. Staring blankly ahead. She’s leaning forward; towards him. Her hands frozen mid-air; reaching for him. He tries to reach back, to hold her in his arms; he can’t. His arms meet leather and he tries to rip himself from the chair. Tries to escape his confines. Why did he agree to be caged? Practically begged for it! There had to be a reason, he wouldn’t just let himself be captured. Why would he just let Byleth tie him to-

_Byleth’s hands against his wrists, twisting the fabric that had been kissing her waist to his flesh. It bites, stings; brands his flesh as she tightens the belt. Making it impossible to escape. She checks his wrists; making sure there is no space. She knows him so well; he was someone who would try and exploit the littlest amount of freedom, but he doesn’t. Honestly his mind is focused, fascinated really, with the sight of Byleth’s breasts. She has to lean over him juuuust right to tie him to the chair. His eyes couldn’t look anywhere else even if he wanted to._

_He wants to whine when she leaves him, beg her to stay. She could tie him up even more. He’d even recommend it; he was totally going to take advantage of the freedom he still has- he’s going to..._

He did take advantage of it. Just how did he take advantage of it? Byleth had been distracted and he-

“Professor,” Lorenz says, concerned. Lorenz’s hand touches Byleth’s shoulder and Claude growls. Lorenz startles. “Really Claude? The Professor is potentially in danger and you only care-”

Claude growls. The sound is vicious, like he’s really planning to tear Lorenz’s throat out. The sound hurts his vocal cords.

Lorenz stares at Claude for a good few seconds and sighs. He removes his hand from Byleth’s shoulder and Claude relaxes for a moment. Byleth was fine, she was there and no one but he would be able to-

Lorenz picks up her still form, bridal style, and leaves the room. The door shuts with a resounding thud.

“Byleth!” Claude’s scream probably woke the dead, but Byleth didn’t return. He was alone. Alone. He wanted Byleth. He needed Byleth. She should be here. She needed to be here. He needed her.

He needed Byleth to come back and claim him. She could walk on him, those killer heels threatening to cut his dick off and he’d thank her. She could spit on his face and he would ask for more. She could humiliate him, use him; leave him waiting as she pleasures herself to the sight of him straining for her. Or she could tease him, run a feather along his aching cock and refuse to give him more until he has already burst once. twice. thrice. She could lovingly kiss him as she took him sweetly by the hand. She could rock their bodies together in perfect symmetry; a symphony of pleasure between them. He doesn’t care what she does, all he knows is he needs her to do something. Treat him kindly. Treat him cruelly. If it’s her he doesn’t care. He just _needs_.

His hips rock forward, thrusting into the imaginary body of Byleth. There’s nothing there; only air and his own loose pants. Still his hips thrust upwards. Imagining.

She’d bring her hips down to meet his desperate thrusts. Maybe commandeering like she is on the battlefield. Maybe strict like she is in the classroom. Maybe softly like she is outside of class. No matter how they meet there’s one thing that’s a universal certain; her sweet cunt is wet and so happy to meet him. He’d slide in so easily and her head would throw back in ecstasy. Her hair pooling down her back like a waterfall and he needs to run his hands through it. He’s thirsty. So goddamn thirsty.

He goes to move his hands only-

They meet leather.

He breathes deeply. A man drowning. He surfaces for a second. Faces the reality that he’s alone and all his empty thrusts are doing is smearing precum over his pants. Like a man drowning: he’s only given this second of reprieve before he’s brought back under to the deep depths.

The leather is warm. Warm from being at Byleth’s waist for hours before they met today. Warm from Byleth... Byleth’s warmth...

The heat of her hands is searing as she presses his hands down. Refusing him any movement. Every time he tries to push her off she pins him down. He’s helpless when compared to her. So helpless. All he can do is whine. All he can do is cry.

“Byleth. Byleth. Byleth!”

She smiles that sweet smile of hers. It’s a smile that could end anything; all she has to do is aim it his way and he’s compliant. He’d take over the world for her. He stops struggling.

“Byleth,” he can’t help that last whine.

She doesn’t abolish him. Doesn’t correct him or praise him. She’s no longer his teacher and thank the Goddess for that. He couldn’t last another day with her as his teacher. Couldn’t last another day without knowing how exactly her wet cunt would feel against him.

“Byleth,” he gasps as she moves against him. She has complete control. He won’t thrust up erratically anymore. He’ll stay seated. Behaved. He just wants her to let him cum. And she will, just not yet. She’s going to take her sweet, sweet time.

He wants to reach for her hair again. But, he’s honest with himself this time. He doesn’t want to just run his fingers through the waterfall that is her hair. He wants to grab those locks. Ball her hair in his hands and crush it. Keep it tight in his hand as he pulls her head back; bearing her neck for him to devour. Mark her pretty neck for all to see. He wants to hear her groans and moans as he takes and takes and takes. But-

She keeps him firmly down. No squirming. No pushing. No pulling. Nothing removes the vice like grip of her hand. He’s at her mercy, except. She never tied his legs down. He’s free to thrust upwards. Free to trip her up. Free to move in her.

He thrusts upwards. And upwards. And upwards.

She throws her head back. Enjoying herself on her throne. She smirks. It’s truly a chilling thing; something that makes his cock twitch in anticipation. It was like she had planned this. Like she wanted Claude this desperate under her so he was forced to buck against her like the deer he was renowned for. Like this was all a scheme she had-

Scheme.

His eyes shoot open.

Still alone.

Still desperately thrusting into nothing.

Still painfully aroused.

He groans.

He won’t be pulled back under. He knows he needs to stay above the water now. Knows he has to cling to the wreckage that was once a steady boat. Cling to the-

Scheme.

He had a scheme!

Somewhere around everyone getting in the way of him and Byleth. Somewhere around Byleth stopping him from crushing their lips together. Somewhere around Byleth explaining to Lorenz about the pollen he had a plan. A scheme. A cruel scheme some might say, but Claude had his limitations. If he was willing to do it, it couldn’t be cruel. He just wanted Byleth.

Byleth...

Scheme. The scheme would allow them to be honest. He‘d never felt as honest as when he first saw Byleth enter the greenhouse. The light caught her hair and the flowers around them really were romantic. He had to make a move; a move he’d been avoiding making. He can’t remember why he’d been avoiding it. Why he would even think of avoiding being anything more than friends with Byleth. He knew it was inevitable. They were always going to be together. Everything was leading to this.

Her voice had always caught his attention. Her looks, well... It was an undeniable fact that she was one of the most attractive people at Garreg Mach. Probably one of the most attractive people in all of Fodlan- no the world. She just had everything anyone would ask for; a curvy figure, smooth skin; abs. By the Goddess! He wanted to trace his tongue along those abs. Wanted to hold his hand against them as Byleth impales herself on his erection; feel those muscles tense as she overextended herself. She’d look fantastic panting and breathlessly asking for help. Squirming as she loses her momentum, but not being able to do anything else as her orgasm builds up. Crying in frustration as everything was too much and not enough simultaneously. Claude would-

Scheme. He’s scheming. The scheme had something to do with Byleth. Byleth. Byleth’s s... stillness. Her stillness. The abrupt way she lost all motion just as they were starting. Her lips against his. His lips against hers. His lips-

He licks his lips; aching for her citrus pine flavour, all he gets is powder. Powder. Pollen. The pollen!

Byleth had mentioned it to Lorenz. Had said Claude was only like this because of the pollen (like what? More honest?) and that it was dangerous (Claude felt great. Byleth should feel great too). He had no way to have her consume any. Every movement he made aborted. Every kiss rejected. He needed pollen to transfer and he needed to be vulnerable enough that she’d let him get close.

A lick of his lips. Tied to his chair. The perfect opportunity and he pounced. Pounced and won. Byleth would feel great (Great!) soon and then they’ll be great together. Only... Claude’s stuck to this chair.

He has no doubt Byleth will come back to him. Either keep him tied down as she rides him (his hips can’t stop the way they obscenely thrust upwards; desperate for that future) or untie him so they can go wild. Only... when she gets away from everyone they’ll all know to look for them here. It’s his room. They can’t get peace and quiet here. They’ll be interrupted and separated and they’ll have to keep coming back together again and again and again. He needs to break free and hide somewhere. Somewhere only he and Byleth will think to go.

The bell rings out loud and proud across the monastery and the answer is obvious. The Goddess Tower.

...

The Goddess Tower is freezing. He feels goose bumps run up and down his arms. Feels a chill spread across his spine. He’s sure every gasp of breath is visible in the cool air. The coldness would be reliving to his flushed skin if he could focus on it. The coldness would be dangerous if he could focus on it. All he can focus on is his hand running up and down his shaft mercilessly. Every twist and pull of his hand is vicious. He needs relief.

His clothes are half off. His large jacket pooling around his elbows. His trousers down to his knees. His undershirt is still on, but is dishevelled in his desperation. His boots are stuck, his fingers forgetting how to undo them. One glove is off; the other forgotten and left covering his left hand. He’s still covered, but he’s revealed himself enough to the cold air high up in the Goddess Tower. Enough to finally relive his poor cock of its unfair torture.

He’d been up here for twenty minutes already. He’d spent the first five- ten?- minutes pacing. Watching the people below bustle about; looking for a shock of green hair that would no doubt make him moan. But, he couldn’t see her. Couldn’t see Byleth. It was unbearable. The more he waited the more unbearable.

He knew Byleth would escape his fellow Deer’s hands and he knows she’ll find him, but he doesn’t know when. He doesn’t know how long it’ll take her to leave that immobile state and have to fight to meet him. Doesn’t know how long it’ll take her to reach his room and realise he’s not there. Doesn’t know how long it’ll take for her to come to him. He’s at his limit.

That’s why he strips (or tries to). That’s why he moans and whines as he fucks his hand (imaging Byleth’s deliciously wet cunt around him). That’s why he’s spread on the Goddess Tower’s floor committing sacrilege (without a trace of guilt, without a trace of shame).

He spends ten minutes winding himself up. Building himself up with cries of ‘Byleth’ only to let himself down. Keeping himself on the brink of ejaculation. The brink of salvation.

“Byleth,” he moans as he teases the slit of his cock with his nail.

“Byleth,” he moans as he wraps his gloved hand around the base of his cock; the texture bringing him uncomfortable, unnatural, friction.

“Byleth,” he moans as he can’t take anymore. His teasing. This wait. He wants. He wants. He wants. He wants. He needs. He needs. He needs. He needs.

He comes. Thick white strips of cum splatter across his chest. His hand. His stomach.

His hand doesn’t leave his erection. His still hard erection. It’s painful; sensitive after just releasing, but it’s not enough. It’s not enough.

He feels like crying. Desperate. Needy. Needing Byleth. She’s not here. She’s not here. She’s not here. Where is she?

It hadn’t taken Claude too long to escape. It had been awkward for sure. Half tied to a chair as he was, but Byleth had left him the perfect tool of escape. Her dagger. On his desk. A few knocks against the desk (that will leave him with bruises), getting his hand and the dagger in line (which involves shuffling on the ground while tied to a chair; he was going to be stiff) and repeatedly stabbing the leather at an odd angle (which resulted in more cuts against his wrist than he would like to admit). If he got out and snuck here there was no way Byleth couldn’t. She was so much stronger than him. She was his trump card.

“Byleth,” he moans; frustrated. Frustrated that Byleth’s not here. Frustrated that everyone was keeping them apart. Frustrated that he was still hard with no sign of release.

He twisted his wrist in a way that would usually have his toes curling. It’s not enough. He brings his hand to his balls, massages them in a way that makes him throw his head back. It’s not enough. He brings his gloved hand to a nipple; raising his undershirt up high as he seeks any extra stimulation. It’s not enough.

He needs-

A click of heels. Both familiar and not. They’re unsteady where they’re usually firm. Unstoppable. They’re still unstoppable all things considered.

He needs-

Laboured breath. Familiar. He can’t deny the sounds she makes when training and fighting can be erotic. She builds up a sweat, gasping for breath and Claude is a weak man. He’s never been able to stop his fantasies. Weak.

He needs-

“Byleth,” relief. Sweet, sweet relief. He comes again, his hands never letting up in the quest for relief, as she turns the corner.

It feels blasphemous. Like he’s ruining a pure memory with his futile bid for release. He’s taking the memory of when they re-met (so similar to this one moment and yet so different). Taking that memory and juxtaposing it with this filth. His filth. He can’t regret it though. Byleth looks absolutely stunning.

She’s stood there, exactly where she was when they re-met, her full lips open; gasping. Where before there was suspicion followed by surprise when she recognised him now there’s only want. A desperate need he feels vibrating through his every bone. She’s always looked beautiful, that’s a fact (there’s nothing subjective about her beauty) and she’s always been a temptation (heels, shorts, a flash of boob and her position of power a wet dream for any poor soul), but with her tights ripped. Some of her clothes missing. The flush painted delicately across her cheeks. She’s dangerous. More than a wet dream. More than a fantasy. She’s sensuality personified. And she’s real. She’s here. He’s hers.

He holds a hand out to her. “Byleth?”

He hadn’t meant to make it sound like a question. He’d been intending to sound sure, confident; impressive. He can’t deny it though... Questioning suits him more. Suits them more. She’ll always be his ‘Teach’ even when she’s not. He’ll always be curious even when he knows the answer. She’ll always be willing to indulge him even when he’s being a brat.

She takes his hand. No shame in touching the hand he’d been touching himself with. No shame in touching the semen he’d forgotten covered his hand. She takes his hand and his heart soars. He wants her; he’s known this to be a fact for years now. She wants him; a secret wish he’s kept to himself for far too long. They’re here now. Together. Now at last.

There’s something... wrong about it. Claude can’t deny. There was a reason it was a secret wish, but... he can’t recall why. Maybe it was the difference in their positions? Maybe it was because he was keeping secrets. Maybe it was-

He pulls her onto his lap. She follows his lead. She always follows his lead. The perfect partner. Whether on the battlefield or scheming. So perfect... Maybe he was just scared to lose this? Scared he’d lose his Teach. His trusted confident. His sweetest companion. But, she reached for his hand. She took his hand. She’s following his lead. There’s nothing to be scared of. Nothing to fear.

He wraps his arms around Byleth’s waist. His head instantly nuzzling through her hair to find her neck. He just holds her a second. Breathing her in (a flowery scent... lavender?). Enjoying the weight of her. Enjoying being able to hold her. Touch her.

Her hands fall onto his shoulders. Careful in a way that’s unlike her. She’s always certain. Firm. Knowledgeable. It’s comforting knowing they’re in this together. Uncertain together. Learning together. Together.

His hands tighten. Crushing her to his chest. She is a perfect strip of warmth along his front.

Her hand moves along his shoulder to his neck. His every nerve following her movement. Her hand trails up to his face, cupping his check. Goose bumps left behind where she’s touched. A ghost of her touch. Her fingers nudge his chin, leading. He follows the movement. Always following her lead.

His head tilted to the side. The angle having their faces lined up. She looks divine.

“Claude,” she says. His name at home on her lips. His eyes follow the movement. Every shape his name makes burned to his retina. A constant he refuses to forget.

“Yeah?” he breathes the word out. His face falling further into the palm of her hand. He smiles, overflowing with joy.

“Kiss me,” she doesn’t ask. She never has to ask for him. He’ll always be there.

He pushes forward to those greedy lips. Her hand falls from his cheek and runs through his hair. Her nails leave a biting trail that runs down his spine. Electrifying. Not nearly as electrifying as their mouths colliding.

Byleth pushes against him. Firm. Her hand tugging his hair closer and it shouldn’t work. The way they want to just shove as hard as they can against each other. The way they want to go so deep they’re wearing each other’s skin. Becoming one person. Yet it’s a relief. Having no space between them. His mouth opens against hers in a gasp. Relief. (Pain). It doesn’t matter what. All that matters is Byleth is there and she’s pushing her tongue into his mouth, against his own.

He doesn’t need much prompting.

Tongues slide against each other. An erotic dance that Claude can’t help but compare to their actual first dance. He had felt thrilled through their dance at the ball; casually touching his Teach in a way that he wouldn’t dare in any other circumstance. A thrill from all the envious stares others shot his way; Byleth was a hot commodity that only he had gotten. A thrill from the potential risk; his Teach was his teacher, there was an unwritten and written rule that had romantic or sexual relationships between students and teachers as forbidden. There had been so much thrill then and there was an endless supply of thrill here.

Every swipe of her tongue sent his hips rolling; driving his still hard erection into the thigh precariously situated along it. Every brush of teeth had him moaning; a promise of pain that he wouldn’t deny attracted him. Every tug of his hair had his mouth opening wider; he was open and willing for her. She could do anything to him.

She pulls her tongue back; completely out of his mouth. His tongue tries to follow. Desperate to not let their dance end. The first might be over, but there’s always time for a second. Sod propriety! A third! Her mouth covers his tongue and sucks. He stills at the motion. Still for her machinations. Her fingers running through his hair. Her mouth sucking at his tongue. He’s completely and utterly at her mercy.

He moans.

“Byleth,” is the intended word. Her name on the tip of his tongue only... she currently owns the tip of his tongue. The word is muffled and nonsensical. All he can do is rut against her; hoping she’ll understand. Hoping she’ll understand how desperately he needs her. Needs to be in her.

She does. His Teach always understands him. Even when he’s speechless.

She goes to move her hips up. Away from him. Logically he gets it’s so she can take those tight, tight, tight shorts off, but logic has no place here. His hips follow, grinding up. His arms tensing around her. Pulling her waist down.

Byleth throws her head back, a moan trapped somewhere in her throat. His mouth finds her neck. Kissing. Biting. Sucking. He leaves a pretty, pretty mark. One that should be accompanied with another... He remembers sucking one deep into her flesh...

Never mind. He has time to make more. He starts working hard at her neck all the while his hips canter upwards. Byleth’s forced to ride the waves of an unruly stallion and she rides him well. Her thighs tight on either side as they control her motion. Upwards. Downwards. Upwards. Downwards. Upwards-

Only there should be move relief. His cock should be sheltered in her folds. She should really be giving him a lesson on riding here. A refresher lesson. She had taught him the tricks to fighting on horseback originally. He’s sure she could teach him something new here. Something that’s more personal. More awe inspiring. She’s always awe inspiring.

So awe inspiring.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers into her flesh. “Always so beautiful. So amazing. So distracting. I can’t bear to tear my eyes away from you.”

“Claude,” she squirms and he hums in delight. Her soaking shorts twist so wonderfully across his bare cock. Teasing him for what’s to come. One of his hands seeks that wetness. That relief.

“Always captivating. The way you fight is mesmerising; like you’re dancing across the battlefield. You’re authority is deserved; you’ve never led anyone astray. And you’re so giving,” a finger trails along the wetness of her shorts and he feels alive. He did this to her. It’s not enough. “I worry you give too much of yourself away. Let me share some of myself with you. I’ll fill up the cracks others leave.”

“Please,” she sounds wrecked and it’s something he’s never heard before. He wants no one else to hear her like this. Only him. And he wants to hear it again. And again. And. Again. Again.

His fingers slip past her soaked shorts. He expects to feel her bare flesh. Open for him to take. It’s shielded from him once again. Tights in the way. Panties in the way. It’s unbearable.

He reacts. A plan always in motion.

His hands find her thighs in a second. They pull her to him and then he pulls himself on his knees. Never letting their bodies separate. He can’t bear to part from her. Even for a second. The pain of being apart is far more than any other pain. Even the pain Byleth must feel as Claude slams her into the ground. Even the pain Claude feels as he slams himself into the ground. In their new position Claude is over Byleth; he has complete control of his movements. All he needs is- he thrusts his hips forward with purpose; hitting fabric once more- Byleth to be as naked as he is.

It shouldn’t take too long.

It’s the longest minute of his life.

His hand trails along her thighs to the seam of her shorts. They linger for a second, revelling once more in how dripping wet she is. For him. (So wet. So warm. She’s desperate for him). Before they trail further up, undoing her shorts and pulling them off.

He’d like to say he took them off swiftly. With a flourish. He does not. Their bodies are pressed so close to each other. There’s no space for him to move them down her thighs and even if there was. The shorts cling to her flesh like a second layer. He has to peel them down. Inch by inch. It’s unbearable. The tension building up beneath his skin. He’s a second from saying fuck it and rutting against her stomach with little care for how desperate that makes him. He is desperate.

By the time her shorts are down her thighs, he’s run out of patience. They catch on her leg guards and he is done. Done. Pulling away, an unbearable three inches, he pulls both legs to the side; giving him a perfect view of her arse and dripping cunt (if they weren’t covered by her tights and panties). He wants to see her fully. Fully.

His hands fumble, but he does manage to rip her tights; they cling to her legs and waist, but there’s nothing in the way of his probing fingers. Nothing but those predictably black panties that he can sneak a finger past. A finger that slips straight into her wet pussy.

He groans. At last.

She groans. At last.

It’s only a finger, but she’s so wet he can slip it all the way in. Her walls welcome him. Beg for him. He inserts another finger. Desperate to see how much she’d take. How desperate she was for him.

She whines her hips bucking down on him. Pulling him further in. He needs to see the way she gobbles up his fingers. The way they combine. He brings his other hands up; pulling her panties painfully to the side so he can watch.

He groans. Grinding into the air before him. He wants to grind into her wet pussy. Wants to grind into that fantastic gap in her thighs. Wants to watch her pussy drip freely around his hand. He can only do one at a time and well... her folds are holding tight to his fingers...

He brings a third finger up to her dripping cunt. She whines. Twisting both into and away from the intrusion.

“Come on By,” he encourages, his eyes transfixed. “You’ve taken three so well; you can take more.”

If she tries to still her hips for him; she fails. Miserably. The sight is not a miserable sight to behold though. Her hair sticks to her face. Her mouth is stuck open; gasping for air (and begging to be filled). Her body squirming in little tantalising movements; none controlled or useful for their need for release. But, in this one moment she’s so expressive. It’s beautiful to see; he loves to see her entire countenance lit up with emotion. And right now she’s passionate. Needy. Wanting. All for him.

He moans as he thrusts three fingers lightly in and out of her. A loving reminder of what he wants to do with her. A loving reminder of what he hopes to do with her. A loving reminder that he is in her and he loves it. She loves it.

Her legs squirm together; the arm connected to the hand keeping her panties out of the way puts enough weight on her legs to keep them in place to the side. The walls around his fingers tighten at the movement. His eyes light up, watching the movement as he moves his fingers back out and in. No more than a centimetre out and in. Testing. Her legs squirm together again. Needing more friction. Demanding it. He breathes deeply. He could give her more. He can-

He pulls his three fingers out. Barely keeping the tip of them in. Her walls cling greedily as he brings them out. His movements slow.

He pushes them back in. The walls of her cunt tight as he enters. Not allowing the easy access that they had been provided a second ago. They had already forgotten the feel of him. Not for long. Soon all Byleth’s cunt will know is the feel of him. All her cunt will want is him.

The arm against her thigh pushes harder. Pushing her legs further to the side. Pushing her thighs further apart. His eyes never leave her cunt as his fingers enter and leave. Enter and leave. Enter and leave.

It’s mesmerising to watch and he... forgets why he’s doing this. For a moment. All he can focus on is the way his fingers enter this forbidden chamber with no worries of consequences. How there are no consequences (there are consequences. He would have done this a hundred times already if there were no consequences). How every time he re-enters it gets a little easier. Like he’s learning the layout. Likes he’s skilled enough to open this cavern up as he wishes. So mesmerising.

He loses hours of his life to this fascination. His mind absorbed in nothing but this and then-

A fourth finger, his little pinkie, slips in. _Finally_. And Byleth howls.

The sound jolts him from his reverie. The calm that fell around him, a clam that had blocked out all sound and... well any sense that wasn’t associated with his tunnel vision, falls. He feels the heavy ache of his cock; gravity pulling at the poor cold thing. His muscles strained with holding Byleth in place. His wrists aching from repeating the same motion over and over. He-

He has four fingers deep in Byleth’s twitching cunt. He is knuckles deep into this beautiful being. And Byleth-

Byleth’s lip is bleeding. Her teeth tearing through the flesh to keep herself quiet until she couldn’t keep silent no more. Tears threaten to spill from the corner of her eyes. Her neck is stretched as she pulls her own hair back; aching so badly she needed some relief. Even her pain was a relief.

His fingers twitch inside her and she sobs.

“You’re doing so well, By,” his mouth says. The words are gibberish to his fevered mind. “So well. Taking four fingers isn’t easy.”

His fingers twitch again, purposefully this time. She cries out once more. Her hand knitted painfully in her hair.

“See, that’s not easy, my good girl,” all he can think to do is praise. Praise her. Praise her for this glorious sight she’s bestowing him (look at the way she’s eating his hand up). Praise her for enduring so much without complaint (how long had he been working her open? How much longer was he going to be working her open?). Praise her for having him (when did she choose to take him?). “You can take more right? You’re so close to being completely full.”

His thumb runs along her clit. His nail biting into the flesh for a moment. Promising.

Her grip tightens for a second as she wordlessly gasps. She says nothing more; lost to the sensation. He presses his thumb down harder. An insistent pressure. Demanding to be acknowledged.

“Please!” She breathes. Nodding her head fast. So fast. “Please!”

It’s not really consent (was there ever any consent given?). It’s not really... consent?

He blinks for a few seconds. His mind trying to... think? It’s like his mind has been lost in a fog so deep it’s sticking to him like tar. Only... he has been thinking... He’s been plotting and scheming and... He wouldn’t be alive if he wasn’t thinking. Wouldn’t be awake. Only-

“Please!” Byleth pushes herself further into his fingers, pushing herself past his knuckles. Her unshed tears fall down her full cheeks. “Please I need you in deeper!”

Consent. He has consent. That’s consent. And she... she wouldn’t be taking him in so well if he didn’t have her consent. Just look at the way she’s dripped all over her thighs and over one of her arse cheeks. She’s leaking. She’s glistening. She’s more than ready for more. He can feel her slick around him.

He pushes further in. Trying to go deeper. To go further. His hand reaches resistance. Her walls clenching down painfully against Byleth’s wishes. She wants him in further. Wants to consume him whole and yet-

His eyes narrow. He needs something more. Something. More.

He leans forward, groaning in pain over the swell of his cock, and cautiously licks a stripe against her clit. She stills. Her body goes rigid at the sensation and he licks once more. Along the seam where his fingers meet her flesh.

“More!” Her voice is high. A pitch he’s never heard her reach. He was unaware she could reach such levels. “More. Please.”

And who was Claude, but a soldier for her to command.

He moves his thumb away from her clit; poised at her entrance. Ready for her cunt to accept the extra roommate. His tongue slides along her bare flesh. Ready to make her squeal in pleasure.

“Ready for me By?” He asks, his voice almost obscured between her legs. Words whispered only for her. A secret shared.

“For ages now,” she whines, pushing down on his hand. His thumb presses against her entrance but doesn’t break through. His lips brush against her clit. “I’ve been ready for you for so long now.”

She sounds like she’s about to cry. Like there’s a desperate truth hidden in her words. Like they weren’t words born from lust. He wishes he had a free hand spare. A hand he could reach to take her hand with. A hand he can entangle with hers. He doesn’t have a spare hand.

“You’re so good,” his lips move against her with every word. She squirms. “Waiting for me so patiently.”

He doesn’t wait for a response. She deserves a reward. Waiting for him. Just him.

His mouth moves on her with purpose. Exploring every inch of flesh available before him. Hunting for the places that would elicit any sounds or actions from Byleth that... just make his mouth water. Her every quirk appetising to him.

A long swipe of his tongue along the very edge of her bright pink flesh, the odd green hair brushing roughly along his tongue (and wasn’t that fascinating? Even the hair down here had changed green... every inch of hair on her body must be similar... He wants to see!). Pushing the flat of tongue hard against her clit, expecting her to squirm and/or moan at the rough treatment. Licking insistently at her entrance, seeing if there was room for his tongue and thumb beside his fingers (all he receives is a mouthful of Byleth’s fluids that he eagerly laps up). He pulls back, licking his lips.

Byleth’s face is flushed a glorious red. Her breathes are ragged. She looks wrecked. He wants her to be more dishevelled. More wanton.

His thumb pushes forward. Demanding entrance. All it meets is resistance. He leans back, taking in her twitching pussy as it clings to his fingers. His thumb... just won’t fit. He knows there’s a way. He’s heard of it. Just... he needs to do more research. He’ll do that next time. Have her cum from his hand alone. Leave both his gloves on and-

His fingers thrust in one more time. His eyes enjoying the way her flesh parts for his fingers. Pliant under his ministrations.

Fucks her with his fingers alone. He wonders how the leather of his gloves would compare to his bare flesh. Would she enjoy it more? Would it bring unbearable friction? He’ll have to test it out himself (maybe he should just switch hands now). Fuck her arse with his finger with no other goal but riding Byleth to orgasm after orgasm. She’ll feel empty without him. Her sweet cunt and arse begging him to return. To never leave.

His fingers pull out of her. Leaving a gaping hole for his view. He wets his lips. For now she’ll have to settle for his cock. Pumping deep into her. Pulling abruptly out. Only to push in so deep she’ll ache for days.

“Claude,” she whines. A hand reaching for him and... he only now realises what she’s been doing so for a while as he’d been... preoccupied with certain other areas of her body.

Her bodice has been pulled roughly to the side; not really off her body at all, but out the way enough that she could pull her ample bosom from captivity. Her tits sit painfully erect from her clothing and armour. One hand still pulling painfully tight at her nipple; seeking any additional friction she could while he had been building her up to a crescendo of pleasure. The hand she holds out to him must have been doing something similar. Probably kneading her other equally large breast. Both nipples are red and erect after all.

He rearranges them. Slipping into the small gap between her thighs and her shorts that are forever trapped at her knees. It’s a tight space, but he enjoys the crushing warmth that surrounds him and the sound of fabric slowly tearing as it’s forced past its elasticity is surprisingly erotic. He grins down at Byleth taking the hand she held out to him. He brings the hand to his face, kissing the palm before guiding her to cup his cheek.

“Let’s finish this, yeah?” He whispers and finish he does. With only two thrusts in her.

It would be embarrassing if he wasn’t still so hard. He spills his seed deep in her warm cunt, probably spills his seed at her entrance and all over her too if the frantic way his hips kept moving was any indication, but he couldn’t stop. He had to keep moving. Had to keep each pounding of Byleth’s poor abused pussy in time with his erratic heartbeat. He feels like they’ll die if he doesn’t.

Byleth claws at his arm as he digs himself deeper and harsher into her. Every thrust more erratic than the last. Her breasts bounce with the pressure he exerts and it’s mesmerising to watch even if their movement is limited by her armour.

She’s so gorgeous to watch. She’s so wet. Her cunt drips with both of their pleasure and he has to keep moving. Keep moving and keep- she shouldn’t be wet with his pleasure. He shouldn’t have cum inside her. He shouldn’t risk her getting pregnant. Only does it matter? They’re married and-

His eyes widen. They’re not married. Her hand against his cheek is without a ring. Her hand clutching at his arm is without a ring. He is without a ring. They’re not married. He... he only planned on sleeping with Byleth after they married. After he proposed. Almyra was surprisingly strict about its noble’s virginity. Sure let the heir to the throne go to another country and have fun playing politics there, but the second he’s slept with someone (even the person he wants to marry) his legitimacy is suddenly brought into question. Not that it wasn’t already brought into question all the time. His Fodlan blood bringing him endless strife. He just didn’t want to give them more ammunition.

Byleth moves against him. Trying to persuade him to keep moving. It would be adorable, it was always adorable how her body was more expressive than her face, if there wasn’t something intrinsically wrong with this moment.

Byleth wouldn’t do this out of nowhere. He definitely wouldn’t do this out of nowhere. He’s a planner and Byleth is cautious in her spontaneity. This doesn’t make sense. This doesn’t-

“Claude,” she whines, both of her hands running along his body to his hair. They scratch at his scalp and it-

It feels so good. The sensation running down his spine through his whole body. His hips move forward deeper into her warmth. She’s so warm and-

The flower! He had been growing a potentially poisonous plant and-

She tugs at his hair; begging him to kiss her. He leans down. His lips just as eager and-

Her eyes are blown wide. So dark. Almost as dark as they were when they first met. They’re meant to be green now. Bright like the stars in the sky.

He pauses above her. It’s tormenting how close he is to just kissing her. Their lips so close and yet... he can’t. Something isn’t right. Her eyes are blown like she’s drugged and Claude... He can vaguely remember pushing Byleth down against her will. Can recall the taste of her on her lips and-

He catches himself staring at her lips. Always eager for Byleth. As much as she’s willing to give him and... she hadn’t been willing to give him this. She had fought him off. They can’t carry this on.

His hands reach for hers and he gently takes them from his hair (her nails manage one last tantalising scratch before he has them firmly in his grip). Her hands are so small in his and he finds himself focusing on them. Eager to run his tongue along each of them. Eager to watch those fingers wet with his saliva enter her cunt. Maybe she’d be able to fit her whole hand in unlike him. Her hands were smaller-

“Byleth- Teach!” The change of name trips over his tongue. He’s not used to this. He’s out of his depth. He’s always in control and-

Her walls clench tight around him like she never wants to let him go. He groans. Forces his hips to stay stationary.

“My friend,” that’s safe. She’ll always be his friend; even when she’s not his teacher, even if she’s not his Byleth. “We can’t do this.”

Byleth stares at him. Stares. Like she can hear the words, but can’t comprehend them. At least... that’s what Claude can read from her expression and he is the best at reading her.

“My friend,” he tries again. Desperate to never leave her. Desperate to run as far away as possible. “My friend. I-”

“Why shouldn’t we do this?” Her fingers twitched like she planned to move them, before remembering Claude had a firm grip of her hands.

“My friend,” he can’t stand not touching her. He rests their foreheads together. As close as he dares. He feels her breath against his heated flesh. “Neither of us are thinking straight. We... we should probably do something. See Manuela? Or something?” 

He doesn’t want to see Manuela. Especially like this. He only ever wanted Byleth to see him like this. To be this vulnerable. This bare. This-

There’s a split second where he’s distracted. His emotions bubbling under the surface of his skin. He feels frail. Fragile. Like he’ll break if he makes one wrong move. He does make one wrong move. In that one second. He doesn’t pay attention.

His back hits the stone floor hard. Byleth twisting them around. She kneels above him; his cock buried deep in her and she has no shame in showing so. Her legs spread as wide as she’s able on either side of his hips. Her back straight and taunting with her ample bosom. Her armour is still mostly on. She’s a warrior Goddess. Poised to fight even his worst demons. To chase everything away. He is left to her mercy. She is perfection incarnate.

“There’s no need to see Manuela,” she assures and it... is reassuring. His heavy heart feels lighter when it shouldn’t. She’s always been good at comforting him. A teacher through and through. “Allow me to demonstrate.”

The smile that her lips pull is both sweet and devious. He wants to follow that smile for the rest of his life. He’s willing to navigate all problems that smile might bring. He-

He has to pull away. Before they’re past the point of return. (Where that point is... he has no idea. Every time he thinks he’s defined the line Byleth redefines it).

He tries pulling out of her (warm dripping cunt). Tries to separate their bodies (brimming to burst even after all the abuse they’ve endured). Tries to- tries to flee however he’s able. But...

The floor is an immovable object behind him, Byleth is an unstoppable force before him and... well he seems to have found himself trapped between Byleth’s legs and shorts. He remembers slipping between them enjoying the pressure surrounding him. He... has to wonder if he had done so on purpose. If he would... willingly scheme against himself... he wouldn’t put it past himself only... what a dastard his past self was. Leaving him trapped between a rock and a hard place. What was he ever going to do? What was he meant to do?

He feels Byleth’s hands on him. He knows what Byleth wants.

He can feel his mind slipping; eager to leave the thinking to a later Claude. He knows what the drug is doing.

He... he’s stuck. What... what can he do? He’s... he’s never had a situation he couldn’t escape before. It’s... (he feels his dick twitch inside Byleth, far too hard for all it’s been put through) it’s terrifying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta this week cause mine and my friends computer just did not want to correctly send this chapter to her to be read, so hopefully it's alright! I know I had to correct a bunch of mistakes in my edit so like who knows what nonsense is in this chapter XD Enjoy anyways!!!!
> 
> See ya next week! x


	3. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the pollen worked out of their system they need to... talk...

She’s drowning. Drowning in the sweat that drips off her body. Little beads that form where they’re able and temporarily cool her flesh. Drowning in her desires that consume her mind. Burning images that are so filthy into her mind she can almost see them when she closes her eyes. She’s drowning in the sounds of Claude beneath her. His little ‘Byleth’s and his harsh hiccups as he’s pushed past the realms he believed his body capable of. She’s drowning. Finding it hard to breathe beneath the harsh tides. Finding it hard to move in the powerful currents.

She fights against those currents. Pushing off Claude’s still hard cock as much as her strength is able, before allowing gravity to force her to impale herself on the length. Her cunt aches for him. Aches so much, she can barely stand pulling away from him. Aches so much, she doesn’t want to pull off him.

She grinds firmly down. Not leaving any space between them. It’s not enough. If she’s not drowning; she’s burning.

A heat flaring across her legs, begging her to move again. A heat flaring across her cheeks; making her pant in the hopes of expelling some of that unbearable heat. A heat flaring through her abdomen; the pressure of Claude’s cock not enough to calm the inferno. She needs to move. To use Claude’s wanting cock to ease the flames that run throughout her.

She moans as she moves. Her thighs protesting even as they understand this is the only course of action that could possibly happen. Her thighs shake as she pulls up off of Claude’s cock and falls back down. Her thighs keep moving; not stopping until the waves crash into her again. Drowning her. Slowing all her movements to a stop.

She doesn’t know how long she’s been stuck in this cycle. Doesn’t know how long she’s been thrown into the ocean after burning in the fire. All she knows is Claude is her salvation. Claude is her everything.

She grinds down on him.

He whimpers.

“Byleth,” it comes out as barely a whisper. His voice long since gone to the waves of passion. He must be drowning like she is. His body pulled far beyond what he’s designed for. “Byleth-”

She moves off his fat and once full (so full, he had poured her desperate cunt with everything he had; no more cum left to give) cock. Then moves back on it. Controlling the actions. She’s stronger than gravity. She had more control than that. She can control this.

Control the slow pull off. Control the slow push on. She can’t control how well his cock fits. How it fills her to completion. How it brushes her clit with every movement. How it makes her cry for an absolution she can’t see. Only Claude can control that. Only Claude can see how this will end. Only Claude has a mind that can see far beyond the now.

Claude is happy to bring her to absolution.

“By- My friend,” he whimpers. Hiccups. He’s completely spent, but he can’t stop the way his cock still grows for Byleth. Still holds strong for her whimsy. His hands scramble for purchase. Reach for her. Reaches for legs. Reaches for cheeks. Reaches for whatever is in reach.

He can reach but never hold on. He’s a man drowning at sea. His hands long since lost their strength. He’s suffocating on Byleth. On everything she is. Everything they are.

“My friend!” He gasps. His hands grip at her thighs. One last moment of strength. One last try. He pulls them close. Begs Byleth to stop moving. Prays this will be the end. “My friend- let me.”

He trails off and Byleth listens. Follows his hands as they weakly paw at her flesh. Moving from legs to hips to her stomach. His hands dance along her abs, before directing her. He has no words left. His throat has long since perished to the desert like heats. He doesn’t know if he can be understood. If Byleth will understand. But-

Of course she does. Of course Byleth does. His Teach. His friend. His love.

She understands the sharp little directions he tries directing her to. Understands her thighs can’t keep going (no matter how they ache to keep moving). Understands she needs to cum quickly. Needs to join him in absolution.

With the little strength left between them she moves in little tantalizing movements. A forward and backwards motion. They’re completely touching. He’s filling her up so well, but she’s riding him in a way that makes her clit cry at the absolute pleasure.

She doesn’t know how long she lasts. Doesn’t know how long she had been going at this point. All she knows is she screams. Her head arched back and Claude pliant beneath her.

The fire still consumes. The waves haven’t receded.

“Claude,” she murmurs, bringing her hand down to his tired face. Her fingers scratch at his beard. Tease the flesh of his jaw.

He groans, but grins as he grabs her hand. Pressing a long and hard kiss to her palm. “Still not enough? I’m not sure how much longer I can go, By.”

His voice is wrecked. It makes her want to fight the whole world to get him water. To make sure he’s safe. She stares at his face. His half lidded eyes stare back equally as unflinching. His thumb rubs soothing circles into her hand.

“I need you to get off, By,” He says; requests. It should be a simple request, but even the thought of lifting off makes her recall from the thought. She’s where she needs to be. She’s exactly where she belongs.

She grinds down again and Claude groans, twisting both away from her and into her. He doesn’t want to leave her any more than she wants to leave him. She can see it in his every action. Why should she leave then? Why would he ask? There has to be some reason. Claude never did anything without reason. He was clever and cautious. He wouldn’t ask her of something she couldn’t do (and she can’t leave him. She can’t separate. She won’t survive being left empty and lonely and she can’t-).

She raises her hips. Whining at the feeling. Claude fills her so well and she can’t bear to have him completely leave her, but he must have some plan. There must be some reason. So, although every inch that leaves her causes her both pain and pleasure, she moves off Claude’s cock. Moves away from the body that can bring her absolution.

Or she tries to, at least. She gets about halfway off when she gets a little stuck. She tugs upwards, roughly trying to get away. Claude groans and she-

She wants to sink back down. Wants to ride Claude until nothing else exists. Wants to keep Claude like a Wyvern hoarding treasure. Wants to fuck herself so completely that she can’t stand for weeks.

“By,” Claude gasps. His hands reaching for her legs, tugging at something. At-

Her shorts are in the way. Stuck against her armour. Trapping Claude. With a whine she adjusts herself and Claude (he falls a little more into her dripping cunt) and shimmies them off the rest of the way. She pulls Claude completely out of her wanting cunt.

He looks relieved. He looks wrecked. He looks desperate. He looks like he wants nothing more than for Byleth to continue using him for her own pleasure.

(There’s nothing more she’d like than to ride her wild stallion until he obeys her every whim).

“Come here,” he gestures to his face and Byleth moves forward. Pushes their lips together. Her tongue swipes along his lower lip and she’d beg for entrance but his lips are already open. Eager to have their tongues dance together. Dancing always led them to the Goddess tower it seems.

The reminder of where they are sends a chill down her spine. The air is freezing and the sun is slowly sinking. It’ll set soon. The last time they were here they had seen the sun rise. On their new dawn. She wonders what it will mean when they see the sun set. Will they have arrived, will they have succeeded? She doesn’t know. All she knows is she’s freezing and Claude is heat. Heat and endless waves of pleasure.

She sinks into the man beneath her. Her tongue diving into the moist cavern of his mouth. Her hands running beneath his half undone clothes to the strong muscles beneath. Her hips eagerly grind against his hips. He’s warmth and happiness and home. She never wants to leave this man.

“Not what I meant,” Claude laughs between kisses. Content to have the woman he loves in his arms. Content to have a break from his oversensitive cock.

“What did you mean?” Byleth asks, practically purrs against his lips. If he was capable of being aroused after all this his erection would be impressive. As it is he just whines against her plump lips.

“Sit…” He groans, wanting to collapse backwards. Wanting to become a liquid and fall through the cracks of the ground beneath them. “Sit on my face. I can’t keep up anymore. But… but I still have my mouth.”

As if to prove a point he kisses Byleth again. His tongue pushing against her tongue. His tongue putting pressure against her lips. His tongue darting across her teeth. He’s always been silver tongued.

She whines into his mouth and when they pull apart. She smiles down at him. A hand coming up to play with his messy locks of hair.

“You’ve always been our best strategist.”

“Nah, that’s you,” Claude smiles.

A little manoeuvring and Claude has a face full of Byleth. It’s a beautiful angle to see his Teach. Her glistening wet cunt, liquid sticking to her thighs and Byleth towering over him. If he wasn’t already in love, he’s sure he’d have fallen for her at that moment. This beautiful moment where she throws her head back and fucks herself on his tongue.

He doesn’t pay attention to the liquids she's smearing across his face. All he can focus on is that one point of tension. That one point where they connect. His tan lips meeting her pink clitoris.

It’s all that matters and he could stay there all day. Drinking all that she provides for him. Bringing her as much pleasure as he’s able. They’ve passed the point of no return long ago. He’ll stay here as long as he’s able. As long she’ll allow. He can handle it.

This is what he wants.

\--

He could not handle it. But he made do. His lips are dry and sore by the time Byleth is finished with him (not finished; just not lost in the waves of passion that she was moments ago. Not drugged by a pollen of Claude’s making), but that’s nothing compared to Byleth’s poor abused cunt. Every movement makes her whimper when she stops grinding down on him. It’s not ideal. He’s not sure if he could even say this was consensual, but…

This is what he wants.

\--

Maybe with a little more forethought next time though.

\--

They lay a panting mess, wrapped around each other. His hands gently stroke her back. Trying to bring back feeling, a numbness seeping into their bones. She rests against his chest, his shirt still wide open (what was the point in hiding after all they just did together), seeking warmth in the cold tower. The sun is setting.

“Alright,” Claude starts, croaks, before coughing and starting again. “Alright. No more experiments on poisonous plants until I’ve identified them.”

“Probably shouldn’t grow poisonous plants in public either,” Byleth chides. “We grow our provisions there you realise?”

“Right! Should have thought of that before,” the words ‘Teach’ dies on his lips. Everyone calls Byleth ‘Professor’ or some variant, but it doesn’t feel right after what they’ve just done. “My friend.”

Whatever else they are. Whatever they’ll become. She’ll always be his friend. He’ll always be hers.

“Also, should have asked around a bit more. Any mercenary worth their gold knows what that plant is,” Byleth continues her lecture. “We call it a fate worse than death.”

His hands tighten- well try to tighten and fail to do so. They’ve become a dead weight against her back. So he settles for circling her waist. Pulling her slightly closer. It’s basically the same effect. He feels her completely crushed against his chest. It’s comforting.

Her words aren’t.

“Was… was this a fate worse than death, my friend?” He asks even though he’s sure the answer is going to send him to the grave early.

“It could have been,” she answers, unaware of the turmoil circling Claude’s mind (did she regret falling into him? Would she think back on this day in disgust? _He_ doesn’t think he can live the rest of his life without remembering her beneath him, over him; completely one with him). “That plant has killed people. Slowly making the person infected lose their mind. Imagine being so wrought with lust, even an animal tearing you apart is relief.”

And he doesn’t have to imagine it does he? What Byleth’s telling him… it makes sense. If By hadn’t been there, if By had never been his Teach, would he have lost himself to the lust? Would he have latched on to whoever he came across? Would he have violated some poor victim or would he have been killed for his own carelessness? He likes to think he’s better than that, but… Claude can remember how his mind hadn’t quite lost its calculative edge. Claude would have fought to survive. He’s only thankful Byleth was here. That Byleth was willing, only… was she?

Was she willing?

“I…” He adjusts his position, giving himself time to think, Byleth is closer after he’s moved. Her face resting where his neck meets his shoulder; her hot breath fans across his collarbones. “I apologise.”

“You’ll have to apologise to Lorenz and Hilda as well; they were worried about you,” By says and… it’s true. Claude needs to apologise to so many people and he needs to set things right (needs to stamp out any rumours before they begin), but more importantly. He needs to set this right.

“That’s not what I meant, my friend,” Claude says, brings a heavy hand up to Byleth’s hair (the hand leaves goose bump across her skin as it moves across her flesh). “What I meant was… I apologise if I forced you into anything unwanted. You… weren’t exactly willing before-”

Before she had a taste of the pollen herself. Before Claude had forced her to be susceptible. Before she had frozen completely in his arms (terrifying him to his core, even if he couldn’t feel that worry over the burning need and want).

“It was nothing I didn’t desire,” Byleth says simply, relaxing as well as her aching limbs allowed her to. She says nothing more. She elaborates no further. It’s frustrating. Almost expected of his friend to be honest.

“But, you-”

“Of course I fought you off Claude,” she cuts him off (he can’t be that predictable, but… he can’t say he minds By predicting his every move). “You were essentially drugged. You can’t say you would have done that if you were in your right state of mind.”

He… can’t.

His fingers play with Byleth’s green hair. Tying tiny braids throughout. If he had an engagement bead he’d thread it to the end of her hair; promises he can’t quite fulfil. For now he enjoys the braids that could be a sign of courting.

“You’re correct of course my friend,” he admits. “If I had my way I’d have proposed after the war had ended. I’d have courted you sweetly. I would tease you until I could finally have you on our wedding night and- I’d make sure I had taken care of your every need tenderly.”

His fingers dance back down to her hips, massaging the area. Offering silent apologises to the ache he had caused.

“That sounds like a confession,” By says and Claude chuckles.

“It does, doesn’t it?” He smiles, pressing his lips to her hair (and those half done braids). “That’s because it is. Really. I love you, my friend. I… can’t see my life without you in it and… this really hadn’t gone how I planned.”

“No battle plan survives contact with the enemy,” she says in that tone of voice that sparks reassurance. The voice she has whenever she’s charging into enemy territory and forcing their victory upon everyone. “You have to adapt.”

“Of course. Wasn’t planning on anything else,” Claude hums. But, how to adapt for this situation.

Almyra was very strict with their regulations on the royal couple being virgins. Claude and Byleth clearly were not (anymore). It wouldn’t matter that they had lost it to each other. Either that rule had to change (not like Claude wasn’t already planning to overthrow a bunch of different rules) or they’d have to keep it a secret. The latter option was preferable, but Claude couldn’t go to Almyra with the assurance that they’d be the only ones that knew. Spies lurked everywhere. Claude knew that Almyran merchants passed through and they’d be more than likely to gossip if even a hint of this got out. That… that part of the plan would have to be left for now. There were too many variables he couldn’t count for at this second.

Next up was well… making sure he hadn’t gotten Byleth pregnant. He can’t wait to one day see Byleth large with their child, but that couldn’t happen now. Not while they were at war. The army needed Byleth and Claude to lead them. A pregnancy would delay their plans. A war that was already looking to spread more months than Claude was expecting could go on for years. They needed to see Manuela. She’d be able to give them some contraception (and be able to hopefully heal them of any aches. The pollen had really numbed the pain, Claude is pretty sure he’s thrown out his shoulder).

There was one thing he could deal with now. He needed to talk with Byleth about them. If there even was a them. Claude hoped there was. He had even confessed (and what a rubbish confession it was. He had wanted to pull Byleth aside and present her with a ring that could almost match her beauty). A talk would hopefully give their bodies a few more moments to prepare for the trek to the healer. A trek where they’d have to be careful not to bump into anyone… their clothes are torn in ways that told everyone exactly what they had been doing.

“So… I uh… I have a ring. Not on me, mind you. It’s in my room. I wanted to give it to you after the war was over with, but seeing as everything’s already gone to whack,” Claude stops. Takes a deep breath. “Byleth, my friend; I love you. With all my being, with all I am, I love you. Would you do me the honour of walking the rest of our lives together?”

Instead of answering straight away (causing Claude’s nerves to short circuit. Maybe this was all due to the pollen. Maybe confessing was a bad idea. Claude had been too confident with buying that ring; he should have taken the next few months to make sure By was interesting. Like he had originally planned) Byleth pats herself down. Her limbs are moving more assuredly than Claude’s (that’s for sure), but there’s a shake to them. A little bit of fumbling that Claude doesn’t think he’s ever seen from her.

It’s a good thing to focus on (instead of his heart thumping so hard in his chest, scared of the answers that awaits. He’s sure By can hear his heart, he’s sure she’d just be curious about it though. What with her lack of heartbeat). He forces all his attention onto the fact that Byleth is quivering in his arms. Worries if she’s ok. Questions what could cause her to shake so much.

His answer is apparent when Byleth grabs his hand and forces a ring onto his finger. It doesn’t fit the intended finger at first (the finger an engagement/wedding ring belongs to), so she twists and checks each finger until it fits on one. It’s silver and purple and though the colour isn’t quite right it reminds him of her old hair colour. It makes all thoughts flee his mind as he stares at his hand.

“I wasn’t exactly prepared either,” she says nonchalantly (as though she hadn’t just rammed an engagement ring on his finger). “I’d have had it resized when the time was right.”

“Potentially stupid question Teach,” her moniker falls from his lips and somehow doesn’t feel wrong after all they’ve done these last few hours. “Does this mean yes?”

She laughs (it’s a happy sound that sounds like it’s caught in her throat. It's a beautiful sound).

“Of course it does. I did say I tried to stop you at first because of the pollen, I didn’t say I didn’t want you at all. You’re so clever and sweet. A lonely soul that understands. A partner that I can rely on. You’re everything I want Claude,” she sends him a cheeky grin (it’s a look he’s never seen before. He’s fascinated). “I can’t say your enthusiasm over the last few hours hasn’t helped your case either.”

Claude blushes. He can’t help it. His face bright with his embarrassment and he wants to hide his face, but he can’t because his hands are busy holding Byleth and she’s moved her head to look him in the eye. All he can do is accept his exposure, but it’s not so bad. No. It really isn’t bad having Byleth stare at him and see him completely.

“What now then?” Claude asks.

“Isn’t that where you come into play?” Byleth asks. “You’re the leader man.”

He doesn’t think he’ll be able to take being called ‘leader man’ again. He’ll think back to this moment with Byleth lounging on him like an incredibly comfortable cushion and he’ll blush. In front of everyone. At least they’ll think it’s just due to the ridiculous teasing.

“Of course,” Claude grins, before thinking. He knows what they need to do first. They need to reach Manuela with as few people as possible seeing them. The best way to do that was to wait until night had completely fallen; with a lot of the staff and military going off to sleep they have less a chance of being caught (assuming Lorenz hasn’t formed an army to find them). Its cold up here mind you, the two of them hardly having enough clothing to cover themselves, but well… They’re currently keeping each other warm. They’ll be fine. “We’ll have to find Manuela, but let’s wait a moment. I’m quite comfortable with you on top of me and well… the stars are about to come out.”

Byleth hums, turning slightly to stare up at the sky with Claude. They can barely see its vastness through the large windows, but they can see enough to see the first few stars twinkling to life. They can see the last red and yellows that speak of a sun setting. It’s a beautiful night to experience with Byleth.

“Do your dreams feel small today?” Byleth asks and Claude pauses a moment. Questioning where that thought came from, but it’s… its quite obvious where. They had spent nights like this before (not intimately pressed together like they are now, but their minds were put together even more intimately. Claude’s not sure what’s more terrifying letting himself be exposed physically or mentally. He’s done them both for Byleth though).

“Maybe to the stars,” Claude allows, bringing his hand to his lips. Mouthing gently at the ring there. “But, I’m feeling like I’ve transcended them. What with the promise of you beside me. That’s one of my dreams accomplished.”

“We’ll succeed with the others too,” Byleth smiles and Claude feels like his breath is falling away from him once again (he feels like he must get used to the fact that the rest of his life is going to be spent breathless).

“That we will. With you by my side nothing’s impossible.”

He genuinely means it. Some may believe him to be a love struck fool (many others will believe him to be taking advantage of his Teach and her strength), but it’s an honest belief. His Teach, his Friend; his Love has never let him down and he never wants to let her down. He’ll fight to the end of the world to make sure everything is perfect for her, for him; for their loving future.

They rest together for a long time. Happy with the way they’re intertwined. Happy with the sights before them. Happy with their promises. Happy with their moment of peace throughout all this turmoil. They still have a lot of fighting left to do. Old classmates they need to fight (and probably slay no matter how it’ll break their hearts). A whole country to conquer. But, for now there’s peace. Peace and the two of them.

When they’re ready to return to the reality around them they’ll carefully make their way through the monastery to Manuela and they’ll happily face the consequences of their actions. Claude is sure he’s the one that’ll be facing everyone’s wrath. ‘Leader man’ or not.

\--

“I can’t believe you’d do something so irresponsible,” Manuela says, her hands a little more forceful than they need to be as she bandages Byleth’s leg up. The gash there wasn’t particularly deep (having been made from Claude’s nails), but it hadn’t looked pretty when they came in.

“Sorry,” Byleth shrugs. She’s not sure what Manuela is more annoyed about with this situation. The fact a dangerous pollen had been used in the monastery or that Byleth was no longer single. The woman did like to cry about the two of them remaining single together for the rest of their lives while drunk after all.

“You knew what the pollen was. You should have just knocked that boy out,” Manuela says and Byleth frowns. She can’t imagine knocking any of her deers out, even if it was for their own good.

“Sorry,” Byleth reiterates. She thinks it just annoys Manuela even more. Especially with how forcibly she pushes a drink in her hands.

“That’ll stop any pregnancy. Don’t have unprotected sex for a week, though you should know not to have unprotected sex at all, you’re 26, that potion is only guaranteed to work once a week. If you mess up again it’s your own fault,” Manuela grins. “Though, I’m not opposed to becoming an Aunty so young. Your children would be adorable.”

“Thanks?” Byleth doesn’t know whether that was sincere or a question and doesn’t bother looking too deep into it. Manuela is a wonderful lady, if a little strange.

Byleth chugs down the drink and grimaces. That is not nice. She’s never having to drink that again. She doesn’t think she’ll have to worry about sex for a few months anyway. There was a reason Claude had wanted to delay his confession for as long as he did. They’re in the middle of a war.

“So… all professional matters aside. How was it?” Manuela grins, pushing as far into Byleth’s personal space as she was able.

“It was nice,” Byleth allows. “For all it was basically drug induced.”

“At least your drug ailed mind focused on someone you wanted. Someone who wanted you back,” Manuela frowns. “Why doesn’t anyone want me! I’m a great catch! I have a great voice, I’m super talented when it comes to healing; I’m smart enough to be a professor!”

“You’ll find someone,” Byleth reassures, only to be glared at.

“I don’t want to hear that coming from you,” Manuela huffs. “You have all the luck. Alright, you can go now. Go be happy with your relationship. I’m gonna go wallow with a bottle of whiskey.”

“Drink in moderation,” Byleth recommends, before carefully standing up and heading out of the medic bay. Her legs aren’t as shaky as they were earlier (sneaking around with Claude had taken them both longer than they’d like to admit. They had to lean on each other to make any headway; like a couple of drunk idiots).

“I always drink in moderation!” Manuela calls after Byleth. She can only shake her head in fondness as she closes the door behind her.

“I’d ask what you were thinking, but we both know you don’t think,” she hears Lorenz’s voice and as she turns towards it she sees Claude receiving his own lecture. Hilda stands beside Claude amused, while Lorenz paces with his words. “How could you bring such a dangerous substance into the monastery?”

“I didn’t exactly know how dangerous it was Lorenz,” Claude defends and Hilda laughs beside him (she’s almost cackling with her glee. It’s good to see her laughing. Byleth’s last view of her had been her panic).

“Then you shouldn’t have left it somewhere when anyone could have been infected by it,” Lorenz snaps. “We’re just lucky you were the only one affected. Well… other than the poor Professor. I can’t imagine the stress you’ve put her through.”

“Well at least she hasn’t put you in the doghouse. Right, Professor?” Hilda laughs, grinning at Byleth as she approaches. Claude and Lorenz both forget their argument to look over at her.

“I didn’t know you could put him in the doghouse,” she jokes. Her soft smile letting them all know she’s fine.

“All healed up?” Claude asks, concerned.

“As much as Manuela was willing to heal,” Byleth admits. She understands Manuela’s reasoning. Wasting healing scrolls in the middle of a war due to sexual activities was… unprofessional? Petty? Something along those lines. Sure she healed the worst of it, but Byleth would just have to deal with the rest of it being cleaned and bandaged. Byleth could walk about without pain, so she’d make do.

“Same,” Claude whines. “I don’t think I’m going to comfortably ride a Wyvern for a few weeks.”

“Aren’t you lucky you have enough weeks to heal before our next battle then?” Hilda grins. “Of course, I’ll take the grievous task of making sure you rest up properly.”

“Yeah. I’m sure that’ll truly be a grievous task for you,” Claude says, voice full of disbelief. A fair assessment though. Hilda would use the opportunity to lounge about for the next two weeks.

Or she would have if they hadn’t gotten busy carefully removing the plants Claude had grown. Or if Marianne hadn’t come back to Byleth to finish their conversation off only for the young woman to admit she wanted to solve the mystery behind her crest and the monsters hidden deep in the forest.

The entire journey there Claude had winced as he rode his Wyvern. The burn he was feeling was similar to the one Byleth felt as they finally fought against the beasts lurking in the woods. Every swipe of her blade pressed against the bruises (hickies) Claude left on the palm of her hands. She can’t be sure about Claude, but Byleth felt a thrill as she fought. Felt a thrill as she felt that pleasant pain. It was like the bite of the hilt was Claude’s lips pressing promises into her skin with every attack. A promise that they would fulfil. Just as soon as this war was over. And… if when everything was getting too much they could now find a quiet corner to spend time together. War was more tolerable with good company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BAM! DONE! Hope it didn't read too rushed with this last chapter, but I honestly just didn't know what else to write XD And of course... HAPPY END! I can't NOT let the two of them get together all happily!!!! Thanks for reading and leaving such sweet comments!!!! Until next time...
> 
> See ya when I see ya! x

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I hope you enjoy the beginning (it's been a while since I've worked on pure smut)! I'll post the next chapter next week!!!! And also let me know if there's any more tags I should add (I am half asleep when posting this, so I'm sure I got the main ones, but I'm probably missing some)! I'm going to bed now, so...
> 
> See ya next week! x


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